Mr. Flynn was evasive, never glancing my way and not calling on me the couple of times I actually raised my hand. So I spent the hour sneaking glances at Ian, watching the way he would spin his pen around in one hand or how his face would take on a far-off look like his mind was millions of miles away.
“I’ll see you soon,” Ian said when the bell rang.
“Yeah.”
“Great.” He smiled and took off. “Gotta run.”
It was pretty lonely out on the bleachers. Everyone there was trying out for the team or squad or watching from the sidelines. I was happy to see that Charlotte had her hands full, weeding through the freshmen for potential junior varsity candidates.
I spent my time scrolling through news articles, even though the grimoire was burning a proverbial hole in my bag.
National:
Seventy-six dead in train derailment outside OK City.
Eight point two earthquake in Japan threatens tsunami.
Syria declares martial law in wake of rebel incursions.
Local:
Harrisport librarian charged, mental health a concern.
Local pet hoarder found dead, 200 cats.
Entertainment:
Kat Von D engaged. Again?
An hour went by before Ian sat beside me, freshly showered and wearing a black military cut jacket, the collar upturned and framing his strong jaw. “How was it?” he asked.
“You were great. I mean, I couldn’t tell which one was you after all the helmets went on but I’m sure that you did a great job.”
“No, I mean, how was it being here. You seemed nervous about it.”
The sun was beginning to set, spraying veins of oranges and pinks beneath the stretches of cirrus clouds that accentuated the curvature of the sky. I thought about how I hadn’t really had anyone to talk to about Brian or the ghosts. At least Ian and I had shared a common, albeit freaky, trip through the matrix.
“I couldn’t go to his funeral,” I muttered. “Brian’s. I was awake after the accident but during my surgery, I slipped into a coma. For two weeks. My father buried him. The whole town apparently showed up. Just not me.”
“The two of you were close, huh?”
“Twinsies.” I laughed, trying hard not to cry.
“Let’s get out of here.” He took me by the hand and we walked away.
We ended up not far from the empty lot with the magical mystery tree, at a diner called McCloone’s, which was known for its short segment on one of those food channel specials about local eateries and their strange delicacies.
“Try the mac and cheese,” I said as he scanned the menu. “It’s famous. Or the bluefish sandwich.”
“Mac and cheese it is.” He smiled.
The restaurant was a throwback to a much earlier era. It had made its mark as a popular truck stop and kept to its roots by only making necessary improvements to its vintage chromed-out railcar housing. This meant that there were only about ten tables in all. Another few weeks and the place would be packed with tourists making stops along their fall-foliage driving tours.
The pink and blue neon lights of the sign outside streaked across the window pane and crept onto our booth. I hugged my tote while we waited for the waitress.
“You going to stay a while?” he asked.
“Sorry?”
“You’re still wearing your jacket. And by the way you’re clutching your bag, it looks like you’re gonna bolt any minute now.” His laugh was warm and deep.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I grinned and placed my bag down, along with my thin black windbreaker. “Habit.”
“Hey guys, what can I get you today?” our waitress, Missy, asked. She was wearing the new McCloone’s logo t-shirts that Harry the owner was making all the employees wear since making their national television debut.
“The lady says I should try the mac and cheese,” Ian said, the ever-present grin on his face.
“Good choice. What about you, Gem?”
“I’ll have the cheeseburger, well done.”
She cringed. “Are you sure? You know how Harry gets when people ask for it that
“I’ll see you soon,” Ian said when the bell rang.
“Yeah.”
“Great.” He smiled and took off. “Gotta run.”
It was pretty lonely out on the bleachers. Everyone there was trying out for the team or squad or watching from the sidelines. I was happy to see that Charlotte had her hands full, weeding through the freshmen for potential junior varsity candidates.
I spent my time scrolling through news articles, even though the grimoire was burning a proverbial hole in my bag.
National:
Seventy-six dead in train derailment outside OK City.
Eight point two earthquake in Japan threatens tsunami.
Syria declares martial law in wake of rebel incursions.
Local:
Harrisport librarian charged, mental health a concern.
Local pet hoarder found dead, 200 cats.
Entertainment:
Kat Von D engaged. Again?
An hour went by before Ian sat beside me, freshly showered and wearing a black military cut jacket, the collar upturned and framing his strong jaw. “How was it?” he asked.
“You were great. I mean, I couldn’t tell which one was you after all the helmets went on but I’m sure that you did a great job.”
“No, I mean, how was it being here. You seemed nervous about it.”
The sun was beginning to set, spraying veins of oranges and pinks beneath the stretches of cirrus clouds that accentuated the curvature of the sky. I thought about how I hadn’t really had anyone to talk to about Brian or the ghosts. At least Ian and I had shared a common, albeit freaky, trip through the matrix.
“I couldn’t go to his funeral,” I muttered. “Brian’s. I was awake after the accident but during my surgery, I slipped into a coma. For two weeks. My father buried him. The whole town apparently showed up. Just not me.”
“The two of you were close, huh?”
“Twinsies.” I laughed, trying hard not to cry.
“Let’s get out of here.” He took me by the hand and we walked away.
We ended up not far from the empty lot with the magical mystery tree, at a diner called McCloone’s, which was known for its short segment on one of those food channel specials about local eateries and their strange delicacies.
“Try the mac and cheese,” I said as he scanned the menu. “It’s famous. Or the bluefish sandwich.”
“Mac and cheese it is.” He smiled.
The restaurant was a throwback to a much earlier era. It had made its mark as a popular truck stop and kept to its roots by only making necessary improvements to its vintage chromed-out railcar housing. This meant that there were only about ten tables in all. Another few weeks and the place would be packed with tourists making stops along their fall-foliage driving tours.
The pink and blue neon lights of the sign outside streaked across the window pane and crept onto our booth. I hugged my tote while we waited for the waitress.
“You going to stay a while?” he asked.
“Sorry?”
“You’re still wearing your jacket. And by the way you’re clutching your bag, it looks like you’re gonna bolt any minute now.” His laugh was warm and deep.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I grinned and placed my bag down, along with my thin black windbreaker. “Habit.”
“Hey guys, what can I get you today?” our waitress, Missy, asked. She was wearing the new McCloone’s logo t-shirts that Harry the owner was making all the employees wear since making their national television debut.
“The lady says I should try the mac and cheese,” Ian said, the ever-present grin on his face.
“Good choice. What about you, Gem?”
“I’ll have the cheeseburger, well done.”
She cringed. “Are you sure? You know how Harry gets when people ask for it that
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